


CHANGE

by reefee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post-War, Ron Weasley-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 02:04:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16822948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reefee/pseuds/reefee
Summary: The War was worse than he realized. His drinking was worse than he realized.





	CHANGE

Ron was okay for a long time. Maybe that’s why it was so shocking when all of a sudden he wasn't. All of a sudden he couldn’t apparate, the feeling of moving through space, the crushing weight of it, the inability to breathe. Ron always thought his change in stability status was abrupt, coming from nowhere, but if he sat down and really thought about it that wasn’t the case at all. It was little things at first. Sitting with his back against the wall in every situation, staring at the exits. Flinching any time Hermione went for her wand too quickly. Keeping tabs on Harry, his family, Hermione, as if they might disappear at any moment. 

The first time he realized that he had an issue with drinking wasn’t even the first time he had hit Hermione. But it was the last time. 

When he wasn’t busy wallowing, he was busy isolating. George hadn’t stopped forcing himself into Ron’s life, however. He even supplied him with a paycheck for a job he never attended. 

“Mate,” George had apparated into his kitchen. Generally this behavior would be considered rude, but George seemed to have the ability to charm his way outside of societal norms, “You can’t keep doing this.” 

Ron looked up at George. He was laying with his head on the kitchen table, unsure of the time or date. He would have still been asleep had it not been the pop of the apparation. “Doing what?” Ron didn’t realize the way the words slurred and slipped out of his mouth. 

Empty cartons of muggle bought food were strewn about the place on the table not occupied by Ron’s head. Some had food spilling from them as they were knocked over, others were held up by beer bottles. Flies swarmed the most sugary of the choices, other stragglers crawled from the necks of the bottles. 

“Hermione asks about you.” 

Ron clenched his fists and his eyes, his teeth gritted as he pounded the table, “Why would you say her name?” Disgust and rage and shame and self-pity swirled in his mind. He wanted to rip his own hair out, smash all the bottles to the floor. He wanted to destroy his home, himself, the memory of him. 

George didn’t say anything, but picked up one of the white cartons which, judging by the food sticking to the sides, had come from the Chinese restaurant down the street., “How old’s this one?”

Ron scoffed and didn’t respond. If George wanted to pick and choose when to have a conversation so could Ron. 

“I’m not going to let you keep living like this, Ron,” George had put the carton down and turned his back to Ron, “You got lucky, mate. So did I.” Ron could hear his brother biting his fist. He waited and George continued, “What would Fred say to you? What would mum say, if you’d see her?” 

No one had been this honest with Ron since the war had ended. Not even Harry. No one had called him out on his bluff, on his behavior. On his misery. 

Ron didn’t say anything for a long time. He was chewing the words in his mind. Tasting the bitterness of the truth, of his fear of living, of his fear of dying, of his inability to cope. “George, what can I do? I fucked it all up, haven’t I?” 

“‘Help comes to those who ask for it’, right, Ron? You can do this, you just need more help, that’s all. Muggles do this thing,” George and his father had spent the past two weeks on this rather impressive muggle object, Arthur had referred to it as a ‘comptutor’, if George remembered correctly, looking up ways to help Ron. They had exhausted their resources in the wizarding world, “I guess they call it rehab...maybe you could do that, Ron? Y’know, meet people who’ve been through similar stuff…” 

“Similar stuff?” Ron laughed out loud, harsh and humorless, “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll have loads in common with a bunch of muggles, won’t I? Oh definitely. They’ve all been fighting a war since they were 11, haven’t they?”

“Merlin, Ron,” George’s ears were starting to get red, “Is that the only thing that defines you? Besides, that’s not the point. The point is that other people know what it’s like to try to escape.”

“How would I even get there or do that?” 

George shrugged, “I’m sure it’s not something a quick confundus couldn’t help..” 

“Maybe,” and Ron laid his head back on the table and was quickly snoring.


End file.
